


Dear John

by Bibanana



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Sherlock Loves John, Valentine’s Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:54:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22749682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bibanana/pseuds/Bibanana
Summary: John is desperate to find a girlfriend before Valentine’s Day, but what he’s looking for might have been living with him this whole time.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 19
Kudos: 138





	Dear John

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this even though I have three other fics that need another chapter. 😅  
> I meant to post this on Valentine’s Day, but I forgot. So, here is a The Day After Valentine’s Day Fic for you! Hope you enjoy!

**February 10th**

John stomped up the stairs, fuming. Goddammit, Penny! Dumping him mere _days_ before Valentine’s Day. He threw open the door to the flat.

“Valentine’s Day is cancelled.” He muttered angrily. “Maybe it’s time to activate a Match account.”

Sherlock glanced up from the microscope. “You’re willing to attempt online dating for the sole purpose of you writing soppy poems and receiving a box of cheap chocolate?”

John sighed. “It’s the only day of the year that I _can_ do that, so yes.”

He squinted, confused, then returned to whatever odd experiment he was doing.

**February 11th**

“Shit!”

John slammed his laptop closed. _Still_ no Matches.

Sherlock’s eyes flicked open. “Christ, John, I’m trying to think. While I am sorry for your lack of a girlfriend,” his voice dripped with insincerity, “we do have more pressing issues at hand. Have you checked our inbox for a good case?”

“No, can’t you?”

“Must I always repeat myself? I’m _thinking_.”

John rolled his eyes, but opened his laptop. “Ah, _I think my neighbor faked his death_? Sounds… interesting.”

Sherlock grabbed the laptop and scrolled through the contents of the email. “Obvious. They were having an affair. She’s married, so she can’t state that, for fear that her husband will see. The idiot is heartbroken, so she is accepting a less likely, but more pleasing answer.” He handed the laptop back. “Any others?”

John stood. “There probably are. You can check yourself, I’ve got to run.”

Sherlock’s brow furrowed. “What? Why?”

“Work.” He grabbed a coat.

“You don’t work on Sundays”

“No. But Clair does.” Before Sherlock could respond, he was out the door.

**February 12th**

“Apparently,” John started.

Sherlock leaned back in his armchair and held up a hand to stop him. “Clair has a husband, yes, I know. You say ‘apparently’ because she acted interested. I know you, John. You're not going to be ‘that bloke’ who ruins their marriage.”

John huffed and collapsed into the chair across from him.

“I really don’t know why you’re pouting.” Sherlock continued. “Valentine’s Day was made to pressure people into buying overpriced candy and frankly quite ugly cards. And just look at the stress that it’s putting you through! Are you really so utterly and completely unsatisfied by living with me?” His eyes were wide and his fists were clenched. Was he really so angry?”

“Jesus, take a breath, Sherlock.” John said, surprised. “I’m not unsatisfied, I just want a girlfriend to share the day with. You know? No, you don’t know. I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

“I think I understand more than you care to know.” He mumbled. With that, he grabbed his coat and headed out the door. He didn’t return until late at night, long after John had gone to bed.

**February 13th**

“Have you found a girlfriend, yet?” Sherlock’s voice was composed, masking any emotions lurking beneath the surface.

John eyed him suspiciously. “Nah. Think it's a tad late for that.”

“You’ve still got a day.”

“Hey, what was yesterday about? You understand more than I know?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and did ‘the look’.

“Well, sorry I’m not as smart as you are, Sherlock. If you expect me to understand, you’re going to have to explain.”

“For god’s sake, John. I thought you were the romantic of the two of us. Has it ever occurred to you, just once, that I feel emotions, as well? That maybe, just maybe I want someone to share the 14th with, too?”

John’s eyes widened. “Oh! Okay! Well, you know, you said girlfriends weren’t really your area, but if you changed your mind I’m sure maybe Molly or—

Sherlock leapt to his feet and began to play a loud, horrendous, screeching noise on his violin. John, extremely confused, clapped his hands over his ears and ran into his room. They didn’t speak the rest of the day.

**February 14th**

John woke late the next morning. Sherlock had already left the flat. He shuffled groggily into the kitchen. Lying on the table was a letter with _John_ scrawled across it in handwriting that was unmistakably Sherlock’s. He opened it and began to read.

_Dear John,_

_It seemed appropriate to address you as ‘dear’, seeing as that is standard, as well as illustrating that you are dear to me, though it does make me sound an awful lot like Mrs. Hudson. Yes, you are dear to me. You are a valuable asset, seeing as you are quick on your feet, can readily tend to wounds without unnecessary sentiment, and can put up with my occasionally infuriating deductions, whilst refraining from shouting expletives. But there is more than that. I admire you, John Watson. And, taking into consideration your inferior intellect, that is the highest compliment of which I am capable. You are the truest friend I have ever had the great pleasure of knowing and I would die before I allowed any harm to fall upon you._

John smiled. Sherlock really was getting soft here, wasn’t he?

_I called you my ‘friend’, but that is not entirely accurate. I feel something for you that I have never felt for anyone else, ever before. I would say ‘love’, but that is too general of a term._

John’s chest tightened. It felt as if his heart would burst.

_I love science, but that is different from what I feel for you. In a way, I loved The Woman. I loved her confidence and skill. I loved that she was willing to play the game, but made her own rules. Yet that is still not what I feel for you._

Why were John’s eyes watering? He rubbed them frantically.

_What I feel for you is much, much stronger. So, John, if you will have me, I am requesting permission to be your first boyfriend, and for you to be mine._

_-S.H._

Tears were streaming freely down John’s face now. His vision was so blurry, he could barely read the rest.

_Post Scriptum:_

Of _course_ he had to flaunt that he knew what P.S. stood for.

_During World War II, a Dear John letter was the name of a type of letter that women wrote to their boyfriends to break it off with them. I find this quite ironic, because it is the opposite of what I am attempting to do with you._

John laughed shakily. Sherlock had just confessed his love for him. _Sherlock_ bloody _Holmes_ was in _love_ with him, John Watson! A retired military doctor! A _nobody_! Did he feel the same way? Well he couldn’t, right? If he’s not gay, he couldn’t possibly love a man, right? But when he thought of those so ruffle-able black curls and bright blue, intelligent eyes, gender didn’t seem to matter anymore. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to make sense of his emotions.

“John?”

John’s eyes snapped open. Sherlock was standing in the doorway, looking uncertain, nervous.

“I feel the need to clarify that you are in no way obliged to-

John closed the distance between them in a few quick strides. Before he knew what he was doing, his mouth was on Sherlock’s. Sherlock’s lips were surprisingly soft. He didn’t seem to know what to do with his hands, so John clasped them in his own, tightly.

Sherlock pulled his head away for a moment and gave a quick, giddy laugh. All he said was, “Yes.” Then, he kissed John back, tipping his head forward to deepen it.

In that moment, life seemed complete. It was as if they both got what they had been waiting their whole life for, whether they knew they were waiting, or not.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, fine. I looked up what P.S. stands for.


End file.
